Punish me
by ShinigamiPhoenix
Summary: Murphy struggles to deal with Rocco's death and asks for Connor's help. Rating to be safe.


Notes/Warnings: This is an angsty little ficlet and contains a slightly masochist Murphy. It has caused a few others to go 'ouch' when reading, so be warned. That said, enjoy and review!

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Murphy was quiet. There was only ever two reasons why Murphy would be quiet-he was asleep, or he was upset. Seeing as he was smoking, Connor doubted his brother was asleep, though it had happened in the past. But his common sense told him that Murphy was upset, because why shouldn't he be? They'd just lost their best friend to the scum they were trying to kill.

He knew that Murphy would need to talk, but forcing Murphy to talk about something was like trying to get blood out of a parsnip. He'd talk when he was ready, and not a moment sooner. So, Connor waited, patiently, for the moment when his brother came to him.

That moment finally came the night after Rocco's death. They'd been cooped up in a cruddy motel room since they escaped from Yakavetta's house, and no one had really said much. Sometime after eleven, their father announced that he was going out, didn't say where he was going, just that he would be back in an hour.

Connor was lying on his bed, thinking, and Murphy was doing the same thing just sitting in the corner. Neither of them were smoking, having run out of cigarettes three hours ago, but Murphy was quietly nursing a bottle of whisky. Sometimes he would glance at Connor, his eyes dark and hooded, but he never spoke a word. And Connor waited, like always.

Murphy's movements were sudden and unexpected. One moment he was sitting there, rolling a half-empty bottle of whisky between his hands, and the next he was one his feet and striding towards the bed. Connor blinked and sat up, watching his brother sit down in front of him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Murphy reached out and took Connor's hand in his, feeling the soft texture of his skin, tracing the lines in palm with his fingertips. Then he raised their hands and pressed them against his cheek. He looked at Connor and whispered one word.

"Please."

Connor recoiled, snatching his hand away and launching himself off the bed to stand by the door, as far away as he could get from Murphy and still be in the room. Murphy didn't try to follow him, just sat on the bed and looked at him with dark, haunted eyes.

"Please, Connor."

Connor whirled around and pointed an accusatory finger at his brother. "Fuck you, Murphy! I won't do it! Not again!"

"Please. I… I need it."

"No you fuckin' don't! Christ, Murph, you cannot ask me to do this again!"

Murphy bowed his head, helplessly balling his hands into fists. Words, desperate pleas for help, died on his lips and he just sat there, silently. Connor couldn't stand to see his brother look so defeated, so broken, so he sighed heavily and walked back to the bed, kneeling down in front of his brother. Hesitantly, he lifted Murphy's chin and looked into his dark eyes.

"Murphy, please," he whispered. "Don't make me do this."

Tears burned in Murphy's eyes, making them appear even darker, and the sight makes Connor shatter like a piece of glass. Biting his lip, he nodded and sat back on the bed, and Murphy moved so that he was kneeling, hope and gratitude showing in his expression, lurking underneath the lines of pain and guilt.

"You have to tell me when to stop," Connor whispered, flexing one hand, and Murphy nodded quickly. Connor sighed again and raised his hand.

The first slap was light, just a test, barely hard enough to leave a mark on Murphy's smooth skin. He knew that Connor would get better, and quickly looked back at his brother, waiting. The second slap was, as predicted, harder, hard enough to really sting. Murphy was still for a second, letting the pain tingle through his cheek, before looking at Connor again.

They both lost count of how many slaps Murphy received. Murphy was too busy letting the pain flare up and wash through his body, letting the punishment swallow his being, and Connor was too busy watching Murphy for a sign that he could stop. After a while he forgot that he was hitting his brother, forgot that his palm was starting to tingle, and just kept slapping, over and over until nothing else existed but the sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh.

It would be nice to record what Murphy's thoughts were as he was hit repeatedly, but the truth is, he didn't think, he just felt. He felt the pain and the punishment and it washed away the guilt and the sadness and the anger. He felt the slaps reverberate through his whole body, retribution for getting their best friend killed.

It was a long time before he gathered enough wits to raise a shaky hand, and the slaps immediately stopped, Connor raising his chin and examining his face with sad eyes. Murphy smiled weakly.

"Thank you," he whispered, and Connor grimaced.

"Don't thank me, Murph. God, don't thank me for this." He took his brother in his arms and lay down on the bed, threading his fingers through Murphy's hair. Neither of them spoke for a long time, lost in their thoughts of the past ten minutes.

"I… I killed him, Connor," Murphy whispered suddenly, and Connor unconsciously tightened his grip on his brother, knowing that the time had finally come when Murphy would confess to him.

"You were right… back then… when you said that it was my idea to bring him in. It was my idea, and it was a bad one. But he… he seemed so eager. I didn't know that it would kill him. I didn't. But it did and it's… it's my fault."

Connor knew what came next, in this morbid little play, because it was always the same. First the silence, then the punishment, followed by confession, and then… then it was time for the tears. Murphy didn't disappoint him, clinging to his body with an iron grip as tears rolled down his cheeks. His body was trembling, his breath coming in those hitching little gasps of someone trying desperately not to sob. And through it all, Connor held him, not saying a word.

It was a long time before the storm of Murphy's weeping passed and silence once again descended on the room. Connor wanted to say something, tell Murphy that it wasn't his fault, that he didn't deserve the punishment he so desperately wanted, but he knew it would do more damage than good. Murphy would just accuse him of lying or sugar-coating the facts. So instead, he just stayed silent, and prayed to God that they would get through this, and more importantly, get revenge.


End file.
